


Waking

by sheafrotherdon



Category: Stargate Atlantis
Genre: Hurt/Comfort, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2007-02-16
Updated: 2007-02-16
Packaged: 2017-10-11 23:36:13
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 285
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/118397
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sheafrotherdon/pseuds/sheafrotherdon
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>John half-wakes when he hears his door open, wakes more when Rodney drops clumsily to the edge of his bed and reaches out to touch him, unsteady hands skimming over his chest and arms and shoulders while mouthing words that don't make sense.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Waking

John half-wakes when he hears his door open, wakes more when Rodney drops clumsily to the edge of his bed and reaches out to touch him, unsteady hands skimming over his chest and arms and shoulders while mouthing words that don't make sense.

"I just, don't ever, don't ever, I can't – if you . . ."

And John goes from wakefulness to watchful panic in a second. "Rodney," he manages, sitting up, Rodney's hands skimming to his back, his neck.

"I dreamed, and you were – they'd taken you and – I watched while they held you down and – you're okay?" Rodney swallows hard. "You're whole, you're not hurt? Tell me you're – "

John reaches to circle his hand around Rodney's wrist. "Hey." He ducks his head to catch Rodney's gaze. "I'm _fine_." He half believes it.

"It's just that I couldn't – if you – if they . . . " Rodney watches him, eyes flicking right and left, and there's something almost heartbroken in his expression, something that twists John's gut and holds him fast when Rodney leans in, brushes a kiss to the corner of his mouth. "Sorry," Rodney whispers, "sorry, I – " but he doesn't pull back, and John slides a hand into his hair, pulls him down, kisses him hard, wanting this, wanting.

"Thank god," he whispers, to the shell of Rodney's ear, to the shadowed rasp of his stubble, to the indent of his chin. "Thank god, wanted – fuck, so long – " and Rodney shudders, presses closer, kisses him with a moan that's barely a hair's breadth from a sob and it's taken a nightmare and the sanctuary of darkness to bring them to this point, but they're holding on now, fingers searching, seizing, claiming and _oh_ , John thinks, _thank god, thank god_.


End file.
